


Arrival

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But mostly fluff, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: Dany arrives at Winterfell and meets Jon's family-and she's surprised to realize just how much she cares about what they think of her.Written for @aweseeds on tumblr for the Jonerys Unites charity benefit.





	Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> So, as it says on the outset, this was written for the Jonerys Unites charity benefit (an embarrassingly long time ago, but life has been crazy lately and aweseeds was kind enough to allow me the time I needed to make this oneshot the best it can be) and the prompt I received from it. I'm honored to put my (minimal) writing talents to use for such a good cause and I hope this satisfies! This story is meant to take place during Season 8 but I've done my best to stay away from the leaks so there are no spoilers (even speculative ones) here.  
> Enjoy!

The inn the royal party stayed in the last night before their arrival in Winterfell was very similar to the other inns they’d stayed ever since they arrived in White Harbor-the inns that Daenerys was inclined to refer to as Northern. They were all made of the same dark wood and stone, hulking over the snowy fields like giants-a few of them had been the only structures of their kind for miles, as they’d covered mile after mile of snowy field and quiet forest. The royal chamber had a large and roaring fireplace and a bed piled high with hand stitched blankets and the soft pelts of animals she didn’t recognize-some heavy and rough, others silky smooth and light enough to function as shawls. Even the Northern people were different-not that she could see much of them through the furs they continually seemed to wear. They had heavy accents and they always looked at her distrustfully, though they were always cordial to her. When they saw Jon their eyes danced, and whispers about the King in the North followed them wherever they went. Daenerys did nothing to correct them. 

But at night Jon was hers. They lay tangled in the sheets together, sometimes making love and sometimes talking at length about any topic they could think of. The only thing they refused to talk about was the upcoming wars because they were inundated with numbers of troops and supplies from sunup to sundown, moving from one meeting to another even when they were on horseback. 

Tonight he was quieter than normal, his laughter halfhearted. He lay on his back with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, where someone had placed a carved wooden wolf in between the rafters. It seemed to look down on them with pale and cool glass eyes and she shuddered because they reminded her of the eyes of the Army of the Dead, feral and lonely. 

She put a hand to his cheek and though he kissed her hand obligingly she still felt that his mind was very far away. “What is it? Something’s wrong.” Of course, there wasn’t much in their world that wasn’t wrong but they made a point to keep their everyday worries out of the bedroom. 

His lips quirked in the faintest of smiles. “No. In fact, for the first time things seem...if not right, then closer than they’ve been in a very long time.” 

“Are you excited to go home?” Jon didn’t talk about Winterfell very much and she didn’t press him, assuming he would volunteer the information when he was ready. 

He nodded. “Yes. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my siblings...I don’t know what they’ll be like, if I can be honest. For so many years I thought Bran and Arya were dead. I thought I didn’t have any family left.” 

She felt a pang of regret for the family she never had, for the brother she never knew and the brother who life destroyed. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to reminisce about them with love in her eyes the way Jon did. “So tell me about them. I’m going to be meeting them soon anyway.” There was a little ball of nerves in the middle of her stomach that seemed to grow worse with every mile, though she didn’t know why. She’d met many people who were far more dangerous and powerful than Sansa, Arya, and Brandon Stark. But they were Jon’s family and she wanted to make a good impression. 

Jon smiled a little, and she felt a swell of pride at having coaxed it out of him. “The last time I saw Sansa, before all of this started, all she wanted to do was marry a prince. She knew all the proper etiquette for every situation and she was convinced life was just a big song. Then...something happened to her. She hasn’t told me her entire story yet but she’s seen awful things. They’ve made her colder, harsher...she mistrusts anyone she doesn’t know. But she’ll warm to you. I’m sure of it.” 

“She wants to protect her home. It’s understandable. I can’t say I was much warmer when I first met you.” 

He laughed, probably remembering how tense their first few meetings were. “Bran was very young the last time I saw him. He loved reading and listening to stories about the Age of Heroes-by the time he was nine he could recite all the arms and heraldry of every noble house in the North.” 

“Smart boy.” 

“Sansa tells me that he uses a chair with wheels now to help him get around. The servants have been busy trying to build ramps to accommodate him, so there may be construction equipment everywhere-” 

“I don’t mind. And...what about Arya?” She tiptoed carefully around the name because his face always shuttered whenever someone mentioned her, like the idea physically of her physically pained him. 

“You’ll like Arya. She’s a mad, wild thing-she always wanted to play with Robb and me. She hated embroidery; she would have ridden horses and practiced archery with us all day if she could.” He seemed to deflate before her, all the strength leaving him. “I should have been there for them. I should have protected all of them.” 

She knew this story, has coaxed it out of him over half a hundred dark nights. “You couldn’t have. You did what you thought was right. And even if you had managed to desert the Night’s Watch, if you’d gone with Robb Stark to the Twins...you’d have been killed too.” It hurts her just to think about it, just to consider that possibility. 

“Maybe.” But it was clear he was not convinced. 

“I want them to like me,” she whispered. The words felt strange coming from her, as if it took something physical to bring them out. “I’m afraid they won’t.” 

He snaked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, letting her bury her head in the crook of his neck. “They will,” he whispered, planting a kiss on the back of her spine. “They’ll need some time to warm up to you at first. But once they come to see you for what you are, once they see how happy you make me...they’ll adore you.” 

It was her chance to not be convinced, but she didn’t say so. Why did it matter anyway? This was his family and his happy ending, not hers. For once, she would just be in the way. 

*

She made sure she didn’t look at him when they entered Winterfell’s main keep, giving him the chance to take in his surroundings in peace. They’d decided to keep a respectful distance from each other at first-not because they thought they had anything to hide, but because they wanted to reveal the truth of their union when the time was right-and she already missed his touch. She liked the old castle immediately-it was a little run down and worn from misuse, but it was stable and cozy and felt just like she imagined a home should. She tried to imagine a young Jon playing up in the ramparts, maybe even climbing around on the roofs. 

Missandei nudged her just in time for Sansa to say “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace. I hope your travels went smoothly.” The girl’s face could have been carved out of stone for all the emotion it displayed, and Dany was glad her Queen’s mask was always on now because on the inside she felt anything but composed. 

“Thank you, Lady Stark.” A muscle twitched in Sansa’s jaw. So she wasn’t happy that Jon had bent the knee. Dany supposed she hadn’t expected anything different. “It is kind of you to open your doors to us.” 

Sansa turned to Jon and said simply “My lord.” Her eyes danced and Dany knew that she was glad to have her brother home, back from the nest of snakes in the South. “Queen Daenerys, would you permit me to show you to your rooms?” 

Dany surveyed the courtyard, looking to see if she could catch a glimpse of Arya or Bran, but the yard was crowded with so many guards and Northern lords and servants that she could easily have lost them in the slew of faces. “I would be honored.” Jon glanced back at her as if to ask if he should go with her but she shook him off, silently telling him to spend time with his family.

Inside Sansa moved so quickly up staircases and down hallways that Dany was soon hopelessly lost, with Missandei and her guard trailing behind them, until she rather abruptly stopped in front of a carved wooden door etched with a pack of wolves growling at some unseen foe. She wondered if this was how all the Northmen perceived her, as yet another meddlesome Southerner who wanted to dismantle all they held dear. She would have to watch her step here, lest she inadvertently set off another uprising. The chambers themselves were spare but comfortable, with heavy blankets, furs, carpets, and tapestries to trap in what little heat they could find. “Your wardrobe-” 

Just then a loud roar shook the ground underfoot and Sansa jumped nearly a foot in the air. Dany gently pushed past her to the window, watching as Drogon and Rhaegal made their descent into the paddock the Unsullied had prepared for them. There were a small contingent of men who could be trusted with them and they were even now laying out sheep carcasses to entice them into a meal. Even now, she could still see the empty air where Viserion would have flown beside them and it made her heart hurt. She hadn’t had time to properly grieve for him because there had been too much to do; some nights she cried when the nightmares kept her awake, muffled by blankets so Jon wouldn’t hear her, but she thought he probably did anyway because he always seemed to be holding her a little tighter the next morning. 

She looked down over the shocked faces of the Northmen as the dragons circled and...there. Two figures standing by Jon, a man in a wheelchair and a girl with thick dark hair. The girl was looking up at the sky open mouthed, a look of pure awe on her face. Perhaps she could have been the third dragon rider. A pipe dream, she knew; even during the Dance the dragon riders always had some Valyrian blood in them. But perhaps the Stark girl could have proved them all wrong. If only, if only…

“You certainly know how to make an entrance, your Grace,” Sansa said, with the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. 

“I’ve found it does wonders for my public perception,” Dany replied, and the two girls shared something that was close to a smile. 

“Perhaps I should be taking notes.” 

All in all, Dany thought, watching out the window as the dragons bedded down for the night, things could certainly have gone worse. No one had gotten burnt, much less killed. Sansa Stark didn’t seem to be plotting to kill her, though the other two's intentions were still unaccounted for. Things could have been better, but they could easily have been far worse. 

*

Jon sat with his siblings at dinner, up on the dais reserved for the ruling family. Dany declined her seat there, preferring to sit among her soldiers and see how they were settling in and adjusting to the change in temperature. None of them complained about their accommodations, though many of them did request a few more fur blankets that the servants were more than happy to provide. The Great Hall was filled with people so that it seemed to burst at the seams, the doors constantly opening and shutting to admit new people and discharge old ones. A few haggard serving girls staggered around with tankards of ale that were bigger than they were, fighting a losing battle to keep everyone’s cup filled. 

Jon would catch her eye every now and then and smile or wink and she couldn’t help the flush that climbed the back of her neck, but for the most part he was occupied with Sansa, Bran, and Arya. They had fallen into the practiced ease of routine, laughing easily and looking at each other with such easy love that Dany wondered at its naturality. It was as if their years apart had fallen away, as if they had just broken their fast together that morning. Strange, but wonderful. 

After dinner she left to see to the dragons and walk around in the crisp outdoor air. It was late at night but the castle was anything but quiet-sparks flew in the forges, swords clashed together in training rings, drunk men sang and women laughed. Her guards were quiet like shadows at her side and she knew she could have summoned one of her advisors in half a minute if she’d wished it, but she relished this moment of quiet where she could just be a quiet observer-a tourist, in some ways. 

There was a rush of movement and her guards were moving before she even realized they’d been approached-only to remember the sharp eyes, the dark hair that was so like Jon’s. “Steady your weapons,” she said, beckoning Arya Stark forward. She was shorter than she’d thought she would be, though she carried a long and wickedly sharp sword at her side-and she handled it with ease, like she knew how to use it. “She’s not an enemy.” 

Arya’s eyes darted impishly from one stone faced guard to the other. “You need better guards, your Grace.” 

“Lady Stark.” She inclined her head slightly and Arya made a face. 

“Please never call me that again.” She fell in step beside them, traversing the crowded courtyard. “How are you settling in? I imagine the weather here is quite different than at Dragonstone.”

“It is it-but I’m growing used to it.” She was slowly accustoming herself to the sheer number of layers she had to wear; going outside had become a far more daunting prospect, covered in furs and petticoats, long outer coats and scarves-even gloves. “Jon didn’t stop talking about you the entire way here. I’m so glad that you and him are so close.” 

Arya smiled, suddenly looking much younger than she actually was. “He’s wonderful.” She glanced around as if to be sure they were alone-or as alone as they could be, surrounded by guards. “I missed him the most. I thought I’d lost him too, more times than I can count...it almost feels like a miracle to be reunited with him now.” Her face was open, guileless-so different from the other politicians Dany knew who were so eager to hide what they were actually feeling. “We’ve all changed so much. I never used to like Sansa, you know-I always thought she was silly and flighty. But life has hardened her, like it’s hardened us all.” There was a pause. “She’s not as rigid as she seems. It’s hard for us to trust people--”

“I know. The world is cruel, especially to girls.” 

“-but you seem different. Jon trusts you. I’ve never seen him look at a girl like he looks at you.” She smirked. “The dragons don’t hurt either.” 

“I wish I was able to be as close with my brothers as you are with yours.” She’d been too young to know Rhaegar and by the time she was old enough to know Viserys the trials of life had already started to drive him mad. Her good memories of him were far away and foggy, blunted by time and the knowledge of what came next for them. 

Arya nodded, though she didn’t respond-and then they came to the doors that led inside. “Have a good night, your Grace.” 

“You too, Arya.” She left Arya standing in the courtyard, twirling her sword like it was an extension of her arm, the blade flashing like quicksilver in the moonlight. 

*

Over the next couple of weeks, the Starks began to warm up to her-apart from Bran, who seemed to hold himself aloof from everyone around him. Even, to some extent, his siblings. 

Arya broke her fast with her the next morning, regaling all of the soldiers at her table with stories of Braavos and water dancers dueling at high noon. She trailed Dany like a shadow all morning, watching her examine troop movements and look over maps of the Far North while Jon met with the Northern lords (it had been determined that it would be best for her not to attend this first meeting while Jon broke the news that they planned to be married). She even offered to train Dany in swordplay--”You never know what it’s going to come in handy.” They practiced in the crypts because Arya promised that they’d have privacy, duelling haltingly since Arya stopped her constantly to correct her grip or stance. 

When Dany was tired of being knocked to the dusty floor again and again (Arya said there was no use in pulling her punches when the White Walkers certainly wouldn’t be) Arya led her up a stairwell she hadn’t noticed in her limited tour of the castle the day before. It wound up and up, getting steeper and steeper until they reached a small wooden door that Arya opened with a sharp kick just below the lock and they emerged onto the roof. Dany had to catch her breath at how beautiful the view was, the snow covered fields spreading to the horizon until she couldn’t see where it turned into sky. This far up the air smelled like smoke from dozens of cookfires, the snow tramped flat from the movement of hundreds of troops. It was a far cry from the power Army of the Dead, but it was the best chance they had. “It’s quite a view.” 

“It’s not much,” Arya replied, “but it’s home. I’ve done a lot of traveling but I still think this might be my favorite place.” 

Dany wondered what it must be like to have a place to come home to, where there was no need for masks or lies, somewhere she’d grown up, where every dark corner held dozens of memories. 

Even Sansa could be persuaded to have a conversation with her. At first it was strictly business-how much of the Stark’s food stores could afford to be spared for any new armies coming up from the South, what their armory looked like, even how much sovereignty the North could afford to maintain after the White Walkers were defeated. But then Dany noticed how all of Sansa’s outfits were heavily embroidered, heavy red, white, and grey thread climbing her skirts and dotting her bodice. As it turned out, Sansa had a soft spot for needlepoint and embroidery. She found it relaxing, and sometimes Dany would see her in one of her sitting rooms bent over a pile of old sheets embroidering direwolves in the corners. The first time she complimented her skills, Dany found a new blanket on the end of her bed that night with a hand stitched direwolf bearing its teeth at her.

She and Sansa were often thrown together in meetings, where they inevitably ended up trading bits of their life stories-places they’d been, books they’d read, occasionally even people they’d met (they had more acquaintances in common than one might think), carefully staying away from any topic that might lead to uncomfortable questions. Arya acted as go between, leading them together so many times that Dany began to think it was intentional. 

She noticed that Sansa’s face, usually inscrutable and hard to read, softened whenever she saw Dany and Jon together. “Jon’s been through a lot,” she confided one night as they took their evening meal together in Sansa’s study. “It’s good to see him find happiness...if not in a place one might expect.” 

But Dany noticed how careful she was to hold herself at a distance, as if allowing herself to befriend who she undoubtedly saw as a foreign invader would jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard to save. Sansa was smart-she knew that Dany could make as many promises as she wanted to respect the North’s right to self rule but until they could draft a treaty (which no one had time for) the terms could be altered at any time. Dany was determined to show good faith-no one was after the Northerners’ way of life. She hoped that one day having a Northerner on the throne (and, if she allowed herself to consider it) a half Northern child to sit it after his (or her) father would someday give Winterfell some peace. 

Even Jon’s direwolf, Ghost, followed her around curiously for the first few days. At first he was wary, ignoring the bits of meat she tried to sneak him under the dinner table-but later he followed her around the castle nosing at her to pet him, sometimes rolling over on his back so she could scratch his belly like one of the stray dogs she’d been fond of in Pentos. Jon often claimed to be jealous that Ghost liked her more than him, but she maintained that it was just because she was more liberal with handouts. Sometimes he tried to squeeze in between them at night, pulsing waves of warmth and providing a pillow of soft fur. 

Three weeks after their arrival in Winterfell, Jon slid into bed next to her after a meeting that had run long. She leaned up to kiss him, twining her hand through his thick curls. “It looks like you’ve been getting along with my sisters,” he murmured as he planted a line of kisses down the side of her neck. 

“They’re wonderful,” she replied. “I can see why you three get along so well.” She hesitated for a moment, her self preservation instincts kicking in and warring against her desire to share everything with him, even things she hadn’t shared with anyone else. “I always wanted a sibling that was closer in age to me. My mother had several miscarriages and sometimes I can’t help but think...if those children had been born, if there had been more Targaryen heirs during Robert’s Rebellion...he couldn’t have killed us all, could he? Not to mention I could have had sisters. I could have had brothers who cared about me. I could have had a family to go into exile with, not just a brother who rued the day I was born.” 

Jon was quiet for a minute. “I never really felt like I fit in with my siblings. We shared a different mother, and it shouldn’t have been enough to drive us apart but it did. I have no idea who my mother was. It felt like everyone else had this vital part of their identity that I never did. I was close with Robb and Arya, but there was always a sense that I was something other, something...apart. Of course, now there’s a sense of familiarity. We've been through so much that finding each other seems like a miracle and we don’t have time for childish bickering."

“Your mother must have been a wonderful woman, if she could give birth to someone as good and kind and just and brave-stupidly brave-as you are.” 

He laughed, though she could hear the hesitation of deep seated insecurity. “You’re lovely.” 

“You deserve for people to look upon you and see your deeds, not who you were born to.” 

“We’re both living in the shadows of our parents’ sins, aren’t we?” 

“That we are. But we’re not our parents-or their sins.” 

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the castle fall asleep around them. The shadows grew deeper, the torches in their sconces sputtering-but in Jon’s arms, with Ghost asleep at the foot of the bed, Dany didn’t know that she’d ever felt safer. “If I could have a child--”

Jon’s chest rumbled with laughter. “I’ve told you I don’t put much stock in prophecies.”

“Well if I could, I’d like to make sure our prince or princess has a host of other children to keep them company. That way if something happened to us--”

“Gods forbid--”

“They wouldn’t be alone. They wouldn’t have a childhood like we did.” 

“I’d like that.” 

It felt like a promise that they were the only ones to bear witness to, in a silent and freezing castle near the top of the world.


End file.
